


Northern Star

by Lemon Drop (quercus)



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-02-17
Updated: 2001-02-17
Packaged: 2017-12-04 13:30:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/711283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quercus/pseuds/Lemon%20Drop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You think I'm the result of some chemical imbalance or brain dysfunction?" the raven asked incredulously.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Northern Star

The raven said, "Do you think it'll happen today?" 

Blair shrugged, and slung his backpack over his shoulder. "Do you?" 

The raven shrugged, too, lifting its glossy wings up and back slightly. "Maybe. It ought to." 

"Yeah, well, a lot of things _ought_ to happen. Doesn't mean they ever will." 

"I thought I was the pessimist." 

"Life taught me well, my friend." 

The bird eyed him, beady eyes gleaming. Blair never could read its emotions. If ravens experienced emotions. Finally, it said, "Yeah, too well. Make it happen, Sandburg." It gave a little hop and flew off the window sill. 

"Fuck you," Blair muttered, and slammed the window shut before leaving for class. 

First up was physical conditioning, which in this weather meant twenty times around the indoor track. Actually, it was pretty cool; the largest indoor track west of the Mississippi, or so Blair had been told. But it was boring, day after icy day, to trot in endless circles. Too much of a metaphor for his life right now. 

After the class had showered and changed from their identical blue sweat suits into their identical khakis, blue pullover sweaters, and yellow slickers, they lined up at the firing range. Blair, as usual, was stationed at the far end. He was trying a Walther P99 9mm with an ergonomic grip. It was cold out, and his breath puffed icily in his face, fogging his goggles as he aimed down the barrel of the gun, carefully not closing one eye for the abbreviated ramped rear sight. 

A brown-striped chipmunk popped up a few feet to his right and ahead of him, peering anxiously up at him. "Raven said you were gonna do it." 

"Eff off," he said, never taking his eyes off the target. 

"No, really. You oughta." It chittered to itself, tail flouncing. "Why won't you?" 

"I am not discussing this." 

"Raven said --" 

Blair dropped his hands, carefully pointing the muzzle toward the earth ahead of him as he turned to look at the chipmunk. "Just give it up. It isn't gonna happen. Got it?" 

The chipmunk stared at him, its eyes narrow with disapproval. It jerked itself around, shit, and darted away. 

"Yeah, well, shit on you, too," Blair muttered, and fired five rapid shots into the bull's eye. Fuck, he was good at this. 

When he sat in class later that day, listening to a tedious explanation of how to respond to cross examinations, he noticed a starling staring at him through the window. It pecked at the glass once or twice, twisting its head in that creepy fashion starlings have. Blair sat up and looked determinedly at the instructor. 

"Friday, it's Friday," Ansparger was humming cheerily under his breath as he walked back to the dorms with Blair that afternoon. "What're ya gonna do this weekend, Sandbag?" 

Blair shrugged. "What're you doing, Ass-barger?" 

"My girlfriend's driving up from Boise. She'll be here tomorrow. Renting a room at the Crazy Eight. Heh." He elbowed Blair. 

"Nudge, nudge; know what I mean?" Blair said, but Ansparger stared at him in puzzlement. 

"Wanna get a beer? Wilson, Stewart, and Chong are going, too." 

"Nah. Thanks. Thought I'd catch a run." 

"You're nuts, Sandbagger. Major nuts." 

"Probably. Have a good time." 

"You bet. Hey, we still on Sunday afternoon?" 

"The study group? Yeah. In the dining hall at four." 

"Or be square." 

Blair nodded and stepped into his room with some relief. He stripped and pulled on silk long underwear and then his sweats from this morning's run; they'd dried since then. He added a scarf, a hat, gloves, and headed out. Down the long drive from the academy to the highway, up the deserted road about a quarter mile, and then right, into a rails-to-trails trailhead. He couldn't get much of a run in this time of year; already the light was fading. The sun had hidden behind thick, curdled-looking clouds for weeks, rain falling most evenings. Tonight he was lucky, though; it was just cloudy and cold. 

He hadn't run far before he became aware of another's presence. Off to his right, something was pacing him. A dog? He realized it was a coyote. 

"Hey! Hey!" it barked at him, grinning cheerfully, tongue lolling. "You goin' up north after all?" 

"Piss off," he huffed. 

The coyote laughed and circled him. "Ojo, Cadet Sandburg! Where you goin' then?" 

He refused to answer, or look directly at it. It circled him again and then trotted alongside him. "Come on, man! Raven said you were stubborn, but you're too much." 

"What do you want?" he finally asked, slowing to a walk, wiping his face with his sleeve. 

"Go north! Nooorth!" it howled, and then suddenly sat to scratch an ear. "Fuckin' fleas," it muttered, and snapped at a passing moth. 

Blair turned abruptly and started jogging back toward the highway. This was just too much. 

"Hey! Hey! Where you goin'? Wrong way, Cadet Sandburg!" 

"I'm not going with you!" he shouted in frustration. Why did this shit happen to him, anyway? 

"Fool! Foooooool!" it howled. He glanced over his shoulder to see it sitting in the middle of the trail, head up. "Foooooolish huuuuuuuman! Foooooooool!" 

"Jesus," he muttered. That night he lay in his cold and narrow bed and listened to coyotes howl in the icy distance. 

In the morning, the raven was back. Blair slid open the window, shivering as the gelid air rushed in. "Hey," he reluctantly greeted it. 

"What is wrong with you?" it demanded abruptly. He pulled on long underwear, his non-regulation blue jeans -- it was a Saturday, after all -- and an oversized Cascade PD sweatshirt he'd borrowed from Jim years ago but had never returned. "Sandburg. Blair. Wait." 

He turned at the door, toothbrush and towel in hand. The raven sat on the window sill, cocking its head so as to better see him. "You need to deal." 

"Look," he finally said. "Animals don't talk. I'm nuts, okay? The fountain and the dissertation and the academy and Jim and the whole shmeer has just driven me nuts. But as long as I don't act on what you little voices in my head tell me to do, I'll be okay. Early onset schizophrenia, I suppose," he added to himself, and sighed. 

"You think I'm the result of some chemical imbalance or brain dysfunction?" the raven asked incredulously. 

"Ravens don't talk," he repeated. 

The raven hopped in an agitated circle, tsking to itself. "I'm not. You're not crazy. I'm not a figment of your imagination, or an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of an underdone potato. Listen to me," and it fluttered from the window sill to the desk top to the top of the chair, wobbling until it caught its balance. "You died, Blair. Remember? You bought the farm, bit the dust, cashed in your chips, kicked the bucket, shuffled off this mortal coil, and were gathered to your fathers. You know this. You _remember_ this." 

It paused; after a few seconds, Blair felt compelled to nod. 

"Okay. You drowned; you're now a son of the water, a brother to fishes, one with the whales. That's why you came here, wasn't it? To get away from the fish?" 

One with the whales: Jesus. Blair rolled his eyes in exasperation although this was, in fact, true, at least to an extent. He'd come here because it was the regional police academy, but he'd been happy to because it was inland. Every time he'd driven by the harbor, he had heard the seals bark out to him, heard the orcas yell, the salmon whisper: Find the wolf, Blair. Find your wolf. It had gotten old really quickly. 

"Okay?" 

He nodded. 

"Okay. So here you are, no fish for miles, but though the medium is different, the message is still the same, right?" 

He rolled his eyes. "I can't believe a raven is misquoting Marshall McLuhan to me." 

"Fuck McLuhan. You know what you need to do. Why won't you go?" 

"I am not going on some spirit quest. That's bullshit. I'm a cop, or I hope to be one soon. I'm not a shaman; I'll never be a shaman." 

"Shaman, shmaman. You need to get yourself together. Just go. Just -- just fucking do it." 

"Great. Now you're quoting Nike. My subconscious is a regular potpourri of popular culture." 

The raven sighed audibly and wobbled on its perch, then flew to the bookshelf nearest him. Twisting its head, it got as near to Blair as it could without falling off the shelf. "Why won't you go? It's Saturday. You're a straight-A student. There's plenty of time. Just get it over with, and we'll leave you alone." 

That was tempting, Blair thought, staring at the annoying bird. Maybe his subconscious would shut up. At last he said, "I'll think about it." 

The bird sighed again and floated to the floor, then stalked to the wall beneath the window and hopped up. "You're letting out all the warm air," it said in Jim's voice, and flew away. He shut the window and went to brush his teeth. 

So he gave up, finally, and drove west. The morning sun behind him, he could see the Cascades in the distance: blue and jagged and speaking of home. He'd grown up surrounded by those rugged peaks and heavy glaciers; they'd nurtured him and comforted, cradled him, and kept him. Now he lived far inland of them, and he had missed their presence in his life. 

He didn't know where he was going: just west and up. What am I going to say to a wolf? How am I going to fucking _find_ a wolf? he asked himself repeatedly, but no answer came. So on he drove, stopping for an early lunch at a gas station-diner in some wide spot in the dusty road, then went on. He realized with a start that he was heading toward Jim. That panicked him, and he had to pull over to breathe deeply for a few minutes, hoping no highway patrolman would pass. He was pretty suspicious looking, even to himself. 

When he was able, he pulled back onto the highway and continued, climbing into the eastern Cascades, wondering where he'd end up. By mid-afternoon, he was in pine and cedar, high above the flat plain he'd been living on for the past six weeks. Snow had fallen recently, lightly frosting the spiky grass and fern covering the ground. He came to a turn-off labeled Wolf Point and pulled over, letting the car idle while he stared into space. What the hell, he finally decided, and twisted the wheel to head north, up the road, steeper into the mountains. 

Wolf Point turned out to be a small town: gas station, pizza place, video store, post office cum grocery store, and a bakery with a cart selling espresso. He got himself a cinnamon roll the size of Kansas and a grande latte and ate them standing on the wooden porch of the post office, leaning against the railing. The air smelled like winter rolling in from Canada, and the coffee steamed like a volcano. For the first time in weeks, the sun came out. 

By the time he finished his snack, he realized that he needed to leave the car here and walk the rest of the way. He pulled out his backpack and made sure he had water and an extra sweater, then headed up a side road marked with a wooden arrow: Saint Brigid's of Ireland. The way was steep and narrow, and a tiny stream cascaded by the side of the road, filling the air with its chatter. He felt better than he had in months. 

A large grey squirrel hung upside down from a pine tree, chewing on something that distorted its face, like a kid with a mouthful of bubble gum. "Not much farther," it mumbled, and then ran up the trunk. 

As he climbed, the wind picked up, sighing in the branches of the trees, rattling the pine cones. The sun retreated behind thick mounds of cloud. Suddenly, the road turned to the left, presumably to Saint Brigid's, but he continued on straight, following some unknown path as true as true north. Paging Cadet Sandburg, he thought, slightly hysterical. 

He stepped past an unusually twisted pine, one charred by an ancient lightning strike, and there, finally, sat the wolf. Waiting, he supposed. They stared at each other. Blair stood as tall as he could and straightened his shoulders. "Hello, little brother," the wolf finally said. It had a deep voice that sounded not unlike his own on a tape recorder, when he'd recorded notes about Jim's abilities. 

"Hey," he said. The wolf yawned, stood up, and trotted farther up the mountain. He followed more slowly. 

They came to an overlook; facing north, he was pretty sure, because all he could see were more peaks. It was as though the plains to his east had never existed. Only higher and higher peaks, all glowing dully with glaciers and snow pack, scree lower down, and a glittering path of avalanched stone. 

"Why am I here?" he finally asked. 

The wolf looked up at him. "Why wouldn't you come sooner? When it was warmer?" 

"I don't generally do what ravens and chipmunks tell me to." 

"Foolish." The wolf yawned again. "At least you're here. Do you know why?" 

"Because I'm crazy?" The wolf narrowed its eyes; Blair noticed they were deep blue. Okay, wrong answer. "I'm here because I'm supposed to learn how to be a shaman from you." The wolf shook itself so hard its hind feet came off the ground. "Uh, to accept my destiny?" 

"Where do you get this shit? That raven? So melodramatic." 

"So why am I here?" Blair asked again. The wolf stared off into the distance. It was definitely colder now; Blair was pretty sure it was going to start snowing soon. He heard the wolf sigh heavily, and then it sat on his foot. "I come all this way to play guessing games?" Blair was getting cross; this was bullshit. "Come on, man. Spit it out." 

"You died, little brother, and came back to life. Not many of us do that. Coyote, yeah, he's the trickster. The phoenix, though I've never seen one. Frogs. But not wolves, and not humans. And now you're a little of both. So you can travel between humans and wolves, and between this life and the next. That's pretty cool. Pretty special. 

"So you need to figure out what to do with this. I imagine having ravens and squirrels talk to you gets weird at times." 

"Yeah, like all the time," Blair mumbled, and pushed the hair out of his face. 

"Probably. But more than that, you need to find your home. A place to be centered, so you can do this traveling. You lost your home. Why are you here?" 

"Where here?" Blair asked, somewhat nonsensically, but the wolf understood. 

"Here here. At the academy place you're staying. That's not your home." 

"No. It's just temporary. Another two months and I can go home. Back to Cascade." 

"Back to Jim?" 

Blair was silent. Like the wolf, he stared north, out at the peaks. Yeah, Jim was home, he thought. But Jim didn't know that. 

"You ever tell him?" 

"What, you read minds now?" But the wolf just looked up at him. "You already know the answer. No, I never told him." 

The wolf raised its eyebrows. "Try not to be stupider than you have to be, little brother. We all have our limitations; no use adding artificial ones." 

"Listen, _big brother_ ," Blair started, but the wolf stood up and trotted away. "Hey, wait up." 

It turned and sat down, waiting expectantly. Blair realized he had nothing more to say. 

"Talk to Jim," it finally said, and then loped away. 

Blair watched it for a while, until it disappeared into the forest. He waited for a few minutes more, but nothing else showed up to lecture him. Just before he turned to go, though, he saw the wolf again, running full tilt toward him. He backed up, afraid it was attacking him, then began to slip backwards, unwilling to turn his back on it. "Hey, hey!" he cried out, and held his hands up. But the wolf jumped right through them and into his chest. "Shit," he gasped, and fell on his ass. Just then his cell phone began to ring. 

It took nearly a minute for him to recover his breath, unzip his backpack, and pull out the phone. "Yeah, Sandburg, who's this?" 

"It's Jim. Are you okay? You don't sound good." 

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine." And he was, kind of. He sat on the cold stony ground and tried to breathe normally. "What's up?" 

"Uh." Long pause. Blair could see Jim trying to think of a reason for calling. "Nothing. Just wanted to say hi." 

"Hi." But he took pity on Jim. "I'm glad you called." 

"Good." He sounded pretty happy. "Hey, I rented Shakespeare in Love. I think you'd enjoy it." 

"Yeah? Just because it has Gwyneth Paltrow's breasts?" 

"No. I mean, yeah, but it was an okay movie. Maybe when you come home." 

Home. "Yeah. I'd like that. I haven't seen a movie since I moved out here." 

"How's it going?" 

"Okay." Except all the animals talk to me like I'm Dr. Doolittle. "Pretty good, actually. It's really cold, though. We had snow." 

"You hate the cold." 

"Yeah, I do. Still. It is pretty." 

"I used to go fishing not too far from there. If it were spring . . ." 

"We could still go. Just look." 

"You'd like that?" 

"Yeah. I would. I'd like you to come out, Jim." There was a long pause. Blair pressed his phone close to his ear, trying to guess what was happening. "Jim?" 

"Yeah. I'd like that, too. You never asked me before." 

"I'm sorry. Didn't think you'd want to. Just a bunch of cadets. All younger'n me." 

"Girls?" 

"Maybe a quarter of the class." 

"You dating anybody?" 

"Nah. You?" 

"No. Not for a while." 

"I don't want to. Just. You know. Not now." 

"Yeah. Not now." 

Another long silence. Blair stretched back until he was lying on the rocky ground, staring at the low scudding clouds. He watched them fly by, the pine trees swaying so far above him. 

"Come out next week," he finally said. "You can stay with me, in the dorm, or I'll make a reservation at the Crazy Eight for you." 

"Probably quieter on weekends in the dorms, yeah?" 

"Yeah." They'd have to share Blair's bed, or else rent one, but they'd figure something out. "I've missed you," Blair finally said quietly. 

"Oh, shit, Chief," Jim said, and his tone of voice twisted Blair's heart. He shut his eyes. 

"I need to go, Jim. I'm up on some mountain and I'm pretty sure it's gonna storm." 

"What the fuck are you doing there?" 

"Long story. Really long story. I just needed to get away, get outta Flatland. This seemed -- nice." 

"Get out of the mountains while you can, Chief. We can talk some other time." 

Except we never do, Blair thought. "Listen, I'll call you tonight. Will you be home?" 

"Yeah, sure." 

"Cool. Wait for my call, okay?" 

"Okay." Jim's voice sounded slightly puzzled, but warm. Pleased. Blair felt like a shit for waiting so long. 

"And you'll come out next weekend? Stay with me?" 

"Oh, yeah. Sounds good. Show me around." 

Show you off, Blair thought, smiling a little, and then pulled himself up into a sitting position. "I'm freezing my ass off here, man, so I'm gonna go. But I'll call you." 

"I'll be waiting, Blair," Jim said, quiet pleasure warming his voice. "Bye." 

"Bye, Jim." He clicked the little phone off and tucked it into his backpack. When he stood up, the raven was watching him. 

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" 

"What did you send me here to do? That wolf didn't have anything to say to me." 

"Humans," the raven said, bouncing down the trail ahead of him, flicking its tail. "Catch a clue, would you?"


End file.
